Goodbye my lover
by Pirates on a Rave
Summary: After their fifth council together, Bakura left. Left the council, left Marik, and said egyptian doesn't know what to do. Clinging to memories of Bakura as if his life depended upon it, Marik cries. Will Bakura hear his silent pleas, or will he not come back ever?


Marik slumped down the couch in his and he-who-must-not-be-named's apartment and popped open his third can of Ben n' Jerry's chocolate-and-vanilla ice cream that day. He took a spoonful of it and stuffed it in his mouth, not caring that it ran down his cheeks and chin as if he were a baby. _Stupid! _Marik shouted inwardly and pressed another spoonful in his mouth, forcing the rest to go down his throat in a quite painful way. _Stupid!_

One by one, the members of his council had left him, making stupid excuses that even Marik couldn't believe in. Starting, of course, with _him. _Everything in Marik's world had gone downward from that point on.

And now, he sat there. Alone, and with a whole freezer full of ice cream as only comfort.

Bakura was but a stupid wanker, so why should Marik care if that stupid stupid, _stupid_, son of a whore left him?

Yet, it stung. It was a blow that Marik could never have expected, especially, after all the fun he and Bakura had had together. At least, Marik had been in the belief that it had been fun. Like that time when they all baked a cake to celebrate the council's anniversary. Bakura had been the only one who actually followed the instructions of the cookbook, while Steve Luma and Umbris were engaged in a rap battle, pegasus was trying to boil water with his good looks, and Marik was pouring way too many cups of sugar into the mix, claiming it was tastier that way. It ended up with Weevil slapping rex with a bag of flour, and the flour had spread all over the kitchen, making everyone pale as snow. Marik had laughed and laughed, because in Bakura's case, there was no difference at all, and then the brit had snapped and threw whipped cream at Marik.

In the end, it was a complete mess, but they laughed and laughed until they almost cried, rolling around on the floor, covered in flour.

That had been fun, right?

Bakura had looked happy then.

But now, everything was horrible; dreadful, even. Marik ate more vanilla ice. He hated being alone most of all. Even more than he hated Bakura; and gods, did he hate Bakura!

He hated, hated, hated Bakura!

He hated ice cream as well, it wasn't good for his figure! Marik roared and threw the bucket of ice cream to the opposite side of the room. Food for the weeping, that's what it was, and Marik wouldn't weep over such a wanker as Bakura!

The bucket hit the wall with a splash, and the ice cream ran down slowly, dripping on an object upon the floor. Marik got up from the uncomfortable, shaggy couch with an effort, and then, he walked over to the wall. He crouched down and picked up the fabric item on the ground, and his heart felt as though it had sunk through his whole gastro-intenstinal system as he saw what it was.

Bakura's t-shirt.

Bakura's dirty, carelessly-thrown-on-the-floor t-shirt. Marik would always yell at him for never learning not to lay his dirty laundry in its rightful place, and he was also usually grossed out by it. However, now he simply took the piece of clothing in his arms, holding it as if it were a baby. He caressed it slowly and closed his eyes, gently pressing the shirt to his face.

It smelt like a mixture of women's deodorant, vinegar and dust.

It smelt of Bakura.

Just like that smell that had penetrated Marik's nose when they had played Twister, and Bakura had his arm over Marik's leg, who was entagled with Pegasus's torso.

Just like that smell when Marik had drawn Bakura a portrait for his birthday, and Bakura had told him that it was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, but he had tentatively hugged Marik anyway.

And Pegasus had said that Bakura was better off without him. No, that couldn't be true. They were best friends forever, Bakura had even agreed when Marik had declared them to be! And the apartment they shared, what was going to become of that?

Would Bakura just come over, fetch his stuff and leave?

No. No, that wasn't right, this was the Mariklair, and it was for both of them. They had gone through so many things together, so why should Bakura leave now?

"Stupid, _stupid _Bakura!" Marik exclaimed, nuzzling his face against the dirty shirt, "stupid!"

Bakura had betrayed him, the bastard; the bastard! While he had laughed with Marik, he had also laughed _at_ Marik, together with that Dartz. What did he have that Marik didn't have? Pizza? No, Bakura didn't like pizza at all, Marik and Bakura had always been taco buddies!

Except, not now.

Marik raised his arm, about to throw the offending piece of garment away, but then, he realized, he couldn't.

Everything just hurt so bloody much.

The phone rang, a merry song erupted from its speakers, asking for someone to pick it up, and Marik, praying it not to be Pegasus, looked at its small screen, aboutto press the 'answer' button. He stopped in blank.

Upon the cellphone's shiny glass surface, small, black letters spelt out a word that caused Marik feel as though he was being stabbed repeatedly upon his solar plexus.

_Fluffy, B._

Bakura.

Marik's palms felt very warm as he did a sharp intake for breath and pressed the button.

"Hello?"

He had to pretend, no matter what, that he wasn't as nervous as he was.

"_Hi, Marik._"

Bakura's voice was even more wolf-like than Marik had remembered. He commanded himself to speak, to say something. But it was hard- if he said the wrong thing...

"Bakura?" Marik asked.

"_Yes. I called to tell you..."_

Marik heard many different sounds in the background, it sounded all too much like people laughing for his comfort.

"_I'll be home late tonight. So don't stay up or wait for me_."

Don't wait for me. Don't wait for me.

But Marik would, he would wait for Bakura as long as he was gone, and he would cling on to everything that was Bakura, everything that had been and would ever be of their friendship; even things that only might or could have been.

That meant that, if Bakura bid him farewell, if Bakura cut off their conversation,

Marik would die.

He tightened his grip around Bakura's dirty shirt.

"Are- are you out with-?"

"_Yes."_

There was a silence, thick and awkward, even though they weren't face-to- face.

"_Good bye, Marik._"

"WAIT!" Marik screamed, loud and strongly. His voice almost broke, so loud was the scream. With no idea what to say, with desperation plauging him like the mare, he whispered the only thing that came to his mind.

"Uhm, have a good time, Bakura."

Marik was desperate now; his heart was beating way too slow, and it hurt. Suddenly, it was strangely hard to breath. Bakura's voice; it couldn't dissapear, it mustn't! That husky voice, that voice that Marik had grown so fond of, it was suddenly the only thing keeping his sanity intact. He would surely have a mental breakdown if the voice dissapeared, and that couldn't happen.

The conversation needed to go on, in whatever way possible.

"_...Good bye, Marik."_

But it didn't.

And as the obnoxious beeping sound was the only thing audible besides Marik's own shaky intakes of breath, Marik knew that he was alone.

"...Bakura?" Marik whispered, pressing the phone tightly to his ear, even though he knew that the owner of the name was no longer on the other line. But, maybe, if he pretended that he was, Marik wouldn't feel so empty.

Like a madman he held to the phone, his lifeline, and spoke with a unsteady voice, "I hope you aren't mad at me Bakura, but I ate all of the Ice Cream in the fridge. It's bad for my figure, and maybe you need it more than I do, you being so friggin' skinny and all", Marik went on, speaking to the empty space, "I mean, remember that time at the beach? Frigg, even Pegasus was surprised, your ribs were friggin popping out of your chest! You know, I could give you some beauty tips if you want, I mean, you obviously really need to."

What was he doing? He had no idea. It was a game, like a sort of fairytale, since it made no sense that Bakura wasn't with him, then nothing made sense, and as it didn't, then... He could just pretend.

Pretend that Bakura was still there.

Pretend that he wasn't suffocating.

Marik grabbed Bakura's shirt more forcefully, pressing it to his mouth.

"And you should really stop just throwing your clothes around the place, do you have _any_ idea what effort I put into ironing them? You're such a messy guy, how am I supposed to live with you if you don't respect our rules!"

No good. Marik felt a lump of unspoken words and unbreathed air form within his throat, and his vision was suddenly blurry, his eyes stinging.

"But I suppose I can't throw you out, you're still...", Marik made a hiccup for air and pressed Bakura's shirt closer, practically burying a half of his face in it, "a member... of my Council, and..."

Marik couldn't stop it anymore, and a lonely tear ran down his cheek.

"And you're my evil bff! Remember that, Bakura! Y-you b-better re-emember it, b-because you're mine!"

Barely registering that he had said 'mine' instead of 'my friend', he went on.

"Y-you're friggin' mine, Bakura! And fine, if-if you feel like g-going then... then I... then you still are mine! 'Cause I think... I think y-you're a stupid fuckhole, and you're messy, and... and y-you never make any food, except... Except th-that one time, Bakura, remember? Wh-when you... when I w-was sick and you made... you made me soup? And... and I s-spit it in your f-f..."

It hurt to visualize Bakura's face. It hurt to think about him, it hurt to speak, but even so, Marik went on because he knew that if he stopped, the weight of it all would bludge him full-force.

"And, and you w-were completely furious, b-but y-you forgave me 'cause I had a f-fever? I don't know what... what you put in it Bakura, b-but it tasted like friggin' shit... But... I am really...really... h-happy, b-because you were there and... and I..."

Marik's voice cracked down, and he inhaled deeply, taking in every bit of Bakura he could muster within his nosetrils.

"i-it's like that... that one time, re-remember the oth-other time? When... when you, y-ou persuaded m-me to go to-to th-the club with y-you... and I, I was b-being really grumpy, s-so you start-started h-hitting on th-this other guy... n-named Steve, j-just to piss me off? I... I used m-my millenuim r-rod to make h-his brains explode. And, and you s-said", Marik swallowed saliva and tears to imitate Bakura's husky accent, "_'Bloody hell, Marik, if you were jealous, you should have just said so!' _I... I got r-really... really angry and said I was-wa-wasn't... But, really, I w-was..."

Jealousy had never played an important role in Marik's life; well, except being jealous of people living "above" when he was a child, but other than that, there wasn't much to be jealous of. Marik figured, he had a perfect body and was really intelligent, or so he told himself. But that evening, as Marik recalled, he had been furious. Bakura had no right to flirt with other guys, even if it was jsut to annoy Marik, no; because Bakura had always been nobody but Marik's. Why couldn't people just see that?

"I ha-te seeing yyou with oother people", Marik blurted out and clasped a hand over his mouth, as if to stop himself from talking further. But it hurt, and he wanted to tell somebody. Even if this Bakura was a non-existent figment of his imagination, he wanted to speak to him exactly what he thought, "I d-don't want you to talk to the-them, Bakuar, I don't w-want you to, to look at other p-people, I wish..."

Sobbing violently, he went on.

"I w-wish you only had eyes for me", he whispered under his breath, "I want you to h-hold noone's hand but, but mine, I want you to only argue with m-me, I want... I want y-you to laugh with me... f-frigg, Bakura, even _at_ m-me... I want you t-to whi-isper in m-my ear... I w-want yuo to ca-caress my n-neck wh-ile you t-tell m-me why I'm b-bea-beautiful...And I want you to kiss me and m-me only!"

Everything that he wanted, everything he'd just said, the real Bakura would never hear, and it hurt.

"Come back Bakura!" Marik cried out, his voice muffled both by hiccups and by Bakura's shirt, "Please, please... don't leave me... d-don't... Don't you dare leave me!" He commanded the phone, as reality dawned upon him;

His world of fantasy had vanished like the last act of a greeek tragedy, the curtains were closed. No more lies. Even so, Marik, whom so desperately clinged to the echo of Bakura's voice, wanted to live the dream another while. Just a little bit more.

He pressed the phone tightly to his ear and sobbed the words, not above a breath, the words that he so badly wanted to speak to Bakura.

But the words rang hollow, as there was no person on the other line of the dial.

"I love you."

Marik dropped he phone to the ground, and suddenly, his knees were awfully weak. He felt like an indifferent chunk of meat, heavy and lifeless, with no power to support himself. Without mercy he fell to the ground, ready to cry his heart out, and holding to Bakura's dirty shirt as if his life depended on it.

But then, what reached his ears was the soft clicking noice of their door being unlocked by the pair of rusty keys that the former owner had given them. Marik's body authomatically jolteed upright, and in a state of panic, he threw Bakura's shirt as far away from him as he could, as if burnt.

The loud clampings of Bakura's boots filled their underground home with sound. Dank. Dank.

Rubbing his eyes feverently in an attempt to dry the tears and fixing his hair, Marik wondered,

Dank. Dank.

Were things going to be different now that Marik loved him?

Dank.

As Bakura stod before him, weary-eyed and with hands in his usual jacket pockets, Marik suddenly knew the anwer. He had always loved Bakura. Even when he hated him.

"You've made quite a mess of this place, Marik", Bakura commented, looking over his shoulder and wrinkling his nose in dissaproval.

"H-hey! I don't ever see _you_ cleaning!" Maybe, Marik thought, maybe he could just play it cool. Pretend that he wasn't losing his sanity. Maybe Bakura wouldn't notice anything, and they could go back to how things were before.

Alas, this illussion was broken as well as Bakura's eyes widened, his mouth forming a perfect 'o', and then narrowed again. He yanked Marik closer to him by his arm, his gaze seemingly registering every nook and cranny of Marik.

"L-let go of me!" Marik exclaimed and tried to wriggle free. But even though Marik was the stronger one of the two, Bakura held a dead man's grip around his arm.

"You've been crying", Bakura whispered accusingly, and Marik flinched a bit, unwillingly.

"N-no I havent'!" Marik defended, but innermost knowing that this was a weak defence against Bakura's icy glare.

"Don't lie to me!" Bakura hissed, "your eyes are red and shiny, your face is pink and wet, so don't you bloody lie to me!"

"Fine!" Marik tried yet again to free himself from Bakura, but with disastrous results- the pale man held him closer instead, "So what if I have? I don't see how that's any of your buisness!"

Bakura's expression sunk remarkably in ferocity, and to Marik's surprise, he almost looked apoleptic. He let go of Marik's arm a bit.

"You're right. It isn't", Bakura mumbled sheepishly, but then he blinked and looked up at Marik again, his cheeks splashed with a red that was most unusual in Bakura's corpse-white skin, "but maybe I want to know anyway! Has it occured to you, Marik, that I'm perhaps _concerned_, or has that not sunk into your little head!?"

"Well you have a funny way of showing it you know! Stopping the blood circulation in my arm, yes because that is _such_ a sign of someone caring about you!" Marik argued. He didn't want to hear more lies. Bakura had left him, Bakura couldn't possibly be concerned. Everything was just lies, lies, lies!

So why did Bakura look so hurt?

But Marik wouldn't stop, Marik was determined to tell Bakura just how much of a rotten liar he was, what an abominable scoundrel those handsome looks hid.

"I don't want to listen to you any more! I called you like, three-hundred times and you didn't pick up! Yes, my God, that is really what caring is! Gods, Bakura, you're such a good friend, especially when you leave your b-best friend... when you leave him... without even... ugh...", Marik couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, and it felt so pathetic. He sobbed out loud and cried, his shoulders shaking violently in Bakura's iron grip, but he still tried to mantain some dignity, and concealed his rosy face with his arms.

Bakura's face was paler than usual, and his jaw was tightly clenched. It looked as though he had been slapped across the face.

"Marik, I-"

"YOU'RE JUST A DIRTY LIAR AND I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR LIES ANYMORE!" Screamed Marik, and then he started punching Bakura.

He wanted to be free, he didn't want Bakura looking at him like that, but Bakura wouldn't let him go. Hard, tightly clenched knuckles were fired at Bakura's chest, who flinched, but then gripped Marik even closer. The more Marik hit, the closer Bakura pressed him, until they were locked in an embrace from which Marik was unable to move a limb.

"I'm sorry", Bakura whispered, his usually dark and raspy voice cracked and thick.

"Stop it!" Marik shouted against the crook of Bakura's neck, wetting Bakura's jacket with his tears.

"I left the council because I couldn't stand it any more", Bakura blurted out, his grip around Marik tightening possessively, "it wasn't that I _wanted_ to, it's just... Argh..."

"You j-just didn't w-want to see m-me any more", finished Marik coldy.

"...In a way, yes", Bakura sighed, "Marik, I'm not good with words. At all. As a matter of fact, I slaughtered my preschool english teacher- but that's beside the point. I... look, I couldn't stand the thought of being with you like that."

"...Like what?" Marik's curiousity had gotten the better of him, and he broke his resolution not to listen to the brit's explanations.

"I... I had to pretend, a lot... I had to pretend", Bakura's throat gave a gulping noise, and his arms were shaking just a little, "I had to pretend that I didn't want to jump at you and make passionate love with you every time I saw your face."

Marik blinked away some tears. His ear cannales must be maslfunctioning, because he could have sworn he'd heard Bakura say... in spite of himself, his body was beginning to warm up considerably.

"...What?" Marik whispered, utterly and completely breathless.

"But it was really hard", Bakura concluded, "you were just so oblivious, gullible, naïve... and I began to fear for my sanity. I just saw you everywhere, and you wouldn't even leave me alone in my dreams! So I figured, if I only found a way to get rid of you, all of this would dissapear!"

By Gods his hearing was not damaged. Marik felt his heart begin beating at double speed, and his breathing was suddenly hatchy- not because of the crying.

"So I just... ugh! I don't know why I'm telling you all of this, you'll probably just-"

"No!" Objected Marik, raising his head to face Bakura. Marik had always been about three centimeters taller than Bakura, and when standing like this, it gave him a feeling that he actually not screw this up, "I- I want to hear more, because I really really really..."

Marik swallowed saliva and continued bashfully.

"I really like you too Bakura."

Apparently, that bit of motivation was what tipped Bakura's scale, because as the soon as the words had been uttered, and Bakura had been given one second to register them, he gripped Marik so tight that the egyptian feared his neck might break, and he crushed his lips roughly against Marik's. This action took Marik completely by surprise, who had no time to react at all. Bakura pulled away after about three seconds, and stopped to behold Marik's face.

Yet again given no space to say anything, Marik was silenced by Bakura's eager mouth, which planted soft, a thousand soft kisses on his lips, as if reassuring himself that this was real, and absolutely _worshipping_ the egyptian's face.

"Bah!" Marik exclaimed between kisses, "Bakura!"

But he was given _even less_ time to answer by the brit, who now instead of just pecking Marik's moist lips affectionately, had grabbed the occasssion presented so nicely to him and slipped his tounge inside Marik's mouth, compltetely closing the space between the two.

Tingles, which before had just been present as a nice feeling in the stomach, were now absolutely devouring Marik; it just felt so good to him. First, having someone you love love you back, and then... then this! He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wider, allowing Bakura to bask in the bliss of his mouth. Their tounges touched, and this was enough for Marik to cause him to press Bakura to the nearest wall. Positions were suddenly reversed, but Bakura, lazily laying his leg around Marik's waist, did not seem to have anything against the idea of being pinned to a wall.

They both damned the human race and its need for air as they broke apart, a bridge of their mixed saliva still linking them together.

"...Bloody...", Bakura began, panting heavily, as if he had diven under water for a long period of time, "that... that was..."

"Really nice?" Marik tried, and leant forward to bite Bakura's earlobe slightly. Somewhere he heard that was supposedly very sexy, and apparently Bakura agreed as he let out a groan, his shoulders sinking as he allowed himself to be completely in Marik's mercy.

"...No, that's... that's an understatement...", Bakura whispered, eyes closed, "that was the best bloody thing... that's... that's ever..."

"Yada, yada, yada", Marik finished, "I know... I'm the best...right, Fluffy?"

"Don't ruin the moment...Ah!" He moaned as Marik bit him harder, "unh..."

"Yes, but I'm sure you won't object when I'll be screaming it..." Marik mumbled, and on his cheek he felt heat radiating from Bakura, who let out an approving grunt and started chuckling.

"Big words from a guy who was crying like, five minutes ago", Bakura chuckled, and kissed Marik's gold-clad neck, "you think you have what it takes, Binky-boy?"

Marik moved his hand to Bakura's neck, and began touching it tentatively, just enough to provoke sparks of electricity upon the place that his fingers had grazed.

"So, you love me?" Marik asked, caressing Bakura ever so slightly. He was to the brim filled with happiness, so much glee he felt like exploding on the place.

"...Don't mock me... I hate saying it, it feels like vomit in my mouth...", whimpered Bakura and turned Marik's face to his, licking the other's lips longingly, "now, where were we..."

"Uh-uh, not until you tell me...", Marik teased and bit the tip of Bakura's tounge, deliberately making the brit insane with longing.

"Alright, hear me out, because you won't hear it from me any time... ehem, I, Yami Florence Bakura whatever the hell my japanese name is, love Marik Sebastian Ishtar the third."

"Eeeexceelleeent", Marik dragged out the word as long as he could to give Bakura the golden opportunity to give him another tounge lashing.

Why did I write this I don't even know, I have no wordcheck or anything of the sort and just kinda wrote it in an hour or so. It was fun. No. Yes.

I WANT THE EVIL COUNCIL 6 OH MY GOD LITTLEKURBIOH LEFT US WITH SUCH A CLIFFHANGER.

So, yeah, feel free to flame, praise, review, whatever, it makes me happy ^w^ I write for fun only, so sorry if I'm not that good, but hey! Fourteen year old swedish lil' mate in elementary school- what can you expect?


End file.
